


Day 5: Command

by Anonymous



Series: Prowl Week [5]
Category: Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Cleaning, Comfort, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Seduction, Submission, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's hardly a secret that the mechs in Special Operations are closer than a normal unit, anyone with optics can see how they orbit Prowl. And the key to running a tight ship?Obedience.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Hot Rod/Prowl
Series: Prowl Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709728
Comments: 3
Kudos: 72
Collections: Maccadam's Back Room First Run





	Day 5: Command

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Maccadams1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Maccadams1) collection. 



“I thought I heard something in here.” a deep voice purred behind him, and Hot Rod froze. He knew that voice, he’d heard it across too many battlefields not to. Deadlock’s hands wrapped around his wrists, pulling until Hot Rod spun around and then pinning him against the databank he’d been copying information out of. “Looks like I’ve found myself an _Autobot_.” Deadlock’s voice dropped an octave, optics a deep red that set Hot Rod’s spark spinning faster, fuel pump racing right alongside it. Deadlock shifted both his wrists to one hand, using that grip and his heavier frame to keep Hot Rod pinned as he reached for his comm unit.

“Don’t.” Hot Rod blurted, and Deadlock smirked at him, fangs glinting in the cool light of the databanks’ running lights.

“And why shouldn’t I, little Autobot?” he asked. Hot Rod bristled despite himself.

“You’re barely taller than I am!” he protested. Deadlock’s hand drifted towards his comms again. “Wait- wait!” Hot Rod twisted, flicking his spoiler end-on into Deadlock’s chestplate and dropping to one knee, kicking the other leg out to, at the very least, slag Deadlock’s balance. He popped back up as Deadlock staggered back, palming the data slug into the tiny clip on the underside of his forearm plating before holding his hands out towards the Decepticon, the universal symbol that he was unarmed and meant no harm. Of course, he could flame out and set Deadlock on fire effortlessly from this position, but then he’d be caught for sure.

“I can make it worth your while to let me go.” he said as confidently as he could manage. His spark spun so fast in its casing he felt sick, but- Prowl had said this information could be the difference between ten and seventy percent casualties on the next raid. The raid that Skids and Shock and Ore would be leading. What sort of partner would he be if he didn’t do everything in his power to get the information where it needed to go?

“How so?” Deadlock asked, hand lowering from his comms to hover over one of his swords instead.

Hot Rod cycled a deep vent, fluttered his spoiler, and turned on the emotional dampener program Mirage gave him after Nyon. His spark slowed in its frantic spin, fuel pump settling back to baseline, and as clarity of purpose swept through him he gave Deadlock his best berthroom optics. “Haven’t you ever wondered, how some random mech from backwater nowhere wound up on the handpicked team of the Autobot Head of Intelligence?” he asked, affecting breathlessness as he strode forward, a sway in his step that came easy as venting. He thought of his team back at base, Dominus’s clever fingers and Getaway’s sinfully talented glossa, Prowl’s unshakable confidence and earnest praise. Hot Rod parted his panels, the armour splitting slowly to reveal his valve, the scent of his arousal thick and heady. He gave Deadlock a sultry look and stopped in front of him, sliding a hand down his front to dip two fingers into his valve, spreading the rim just enough to show off the biolights within.

“You fragged your way into Intelligence?” Deadlock laughed, but his optics didn’t leave Hot Rod’s valve. A bead of lubricant rolled down one of his fingers, hanging for a moment before falling to the floor.

“I promise, Deadlock.” Hot Rod purred, flaring carnal appreciation in his field as he tracked his optics down Deadlock’s scuffed and dented frame. “I got where I am now by being the best at what I do.” he withdrew his fingers from his valve and lifted his hand to his mouth, licking them clean with a soft moan. “Want a demonstration?”

Deadlock’s engine revved, and Hot Rod made a point of gasping loudly as he was grabbed by the hips and bullied back against the databanks again. “I’m going to frag you so good you can’t walk.” Deadlock growled in his audial, panel snapping back and spike head nudging against Hot Rod’s rim. “Frag you hard enough you can’t remember your own name.”

“Oh yeah?” Hot Rod grinned, flaring challenge in his field and bucking against Deadlock’s hands to take the tip of his spike into his valve. “Tell you what, if you outlast me I’ll _let_ you toss me in the brig.” he rolled his hips again, vents hitching as the tip of Deadlock’s spike dragged over his anterior node. “Or your quarters, whichever you prefer.” he shot Deadlock a cocky grin, which vanished a moment later as Deadlock pulled him down onto his spike.

Small blessings, his old mods kept anything from tearing as Deadlock hilted himself in one forceful thrust. He let out a soft cry, arching into the pressure, and clawed fingers sank between the biolights which ran between his thigh and hip plating, dragging his legs up around Deadlocks waist. Deadlock’s pace was quick, brutally so, and Hot Rod let every stray sound slip from his vocaliser as he concentrated on matching the ripple of his calipers to the rhythm of Deadlock’s thrusts.

“Feel so good.” Deadlock moaned, low enough to resonate against the underside of Hot Rod’s plating. “Nice an’ tight for my spike.”

“Cuz you’re- so big.” Hot Rod panted, mewling a little at the end as Deadlock sank his perfectly average sized spike in to the hilt again. And again. And again. Decepticons, no finesse. “Faster.” he moaned, wriggling his hips to get Deadlock’s spike to hit a new set of nodes as he picked up the pace. A bite to his neck cables drew a genuine gasp out of him, and he let out a deliberately wanton moan as Deadlock moved on to biting his collar fairing and shoulders. A few bites later one of the hands sunk into his thigh cabling lifted to come up and paw at his chest, and even through the emotional dampeners Hot Rod felt a spike of fear. Deadlock was a Decepticon, sure, but there were some things that were too low even for Cons!

Deadlock’s claws scraped over the center of his chestplate, field flaring with possessive intent, and Hot Rod threw his helm back with his best wail, clenching every caliper in his valve at once. Deadlock overloaded with a roar on his very next thrust, pushing Hot Rod nearly into an actual overload, and when the Decepticon collapsed Hot Rod pulled himself off of the softening spike with a smirk.

“That all you got?” he teased, lacing his field with a practiced blend of _arousal attraction eagerness_. “Here, let me warm you up for another round.” he pressed his hands to Deadlock’s shoulders, urging him down onto his back along the base of the databanks. Deadlock’s thighs parted easily, letting him settle between them with his arms braced on either side, and he briefly considered checking just how much of a valve mech Deadlock was. He quickly dismissed that idea and lowered his helm to Deadlock’s spike, taking the whole length in his mouth easily. It barely even passed into his intake.

Deadlock moaned, engine revving as his fans clicked, futilely trying to spin faster than their top speed. His hips bucked, spike firming in Hot Rod’s mouth, and Hot Rod moaned to urge it along. It made it much easier to lick the length of hot metal clean, and the sounds Deadlock made when Hot Rod’s glossa teased over and around the biolights studded along the underside of his spike were pretty dang satisfying.

“Rod- Roddy- I’m gonna-” Deadlock moaned loudly, and Hot Rod pulled off just in time to get a splash of transfluid across his face. Deadlock collapsed against the floor, vents audibly straining, and Hot Rod chuckled as he bent his helm to put his mouth on Deadlock’s spike again. At this rate, riding him just the once would be enough to knock Deadlock down and out long enough for him to make his escape, even factoring in the delay of a sore valve.

\---

Hot Rod’s favourite thing about their current base of operations was its main door. So long as there were no Decepticon signatures in the area, it opened automatically for any Autobot in the database. This, plus the nice wide halls, meant that he didn’t have to transform back into root mode until he was at the door to Prowl’s office. And in altmode, nobody could see how his hands trembled. Nobody would question why his field was pulled so close. At least, nobody who he didn’t trust with the answer.

“It’s open.” Prowl said when Hot Rod knocked, and he tapped the operation panel to let himself in. Prowl’s office and connected quarters were painted a cool blue-green, and as the door shut behind him Hot Rod felt some of the tension leave his frame. Not nearly enough to fool Prowl into thinking he was alright, but he didn’t want that anyways.

“I got the information.” he grinned, pulling the data slug from its clip and handing it over.

“Who was it?” Prowl asked, bypassing the obvious questions as he took the data slug and plugged it into a pad.

“Deadlock.” Hot Rod reported, clinging to the last remnants of the dampener code still running. “I had to-”

“Stop.” Prowl ordered, holding up a hand and meeting Hot Rod’s optics. “I am going to scan this data to see if it needs to be decrypted. It shouldn’t take more than two kliks.”

Hot Rod nodded, hands stilling at his sides.

“While I do that, I want you to get solvent, cleaning cloths, and polish.” Prowl continued, his voice calm and even, authority in every glyph. “Set them on the berthside table, and wait for me.”

“Okay.” Hot Rod nodded, turning to the door which led into Prowl’s personal quarters. They weren’t any smaller than his own, but the oversized berth taking up most of the room made them feel... cozier. Or maybe that was the hoard of pillows that they all teased Prowl about endlessly, but still contributed to every time a gift-giving occasion came around. Hot Rod moved about the room on autopilot, fetching everything Prowl had asked for and grabbing a fuzzy beige pillow from the pile. He’d barely sat down on the edge of the berth when the door to the office opened again and Prowl entered.

“Lie down.” he ordered, and Hot Rod obeyed, stretching out over the berth on his back, optics on the ceiling, letting himself drift surrounded by that familiar blue-green. “I’m going to start with your face.” Prowl said, and Hot Rod nodded. “Each time I move to another part of your frame, you will tell me one thing that happened on your mission. Understood?”

“Understood.” he nodded again, and shuttered his optics as Prowl brought a damp cleaning cloth to his face, wiping away the dried transfluid before moving on to the rest of his helm, scrubbing down every bit of plating. He swallowed as Prowl reached his throat, vocaliser clicking as he reset it, and the touch of solvent-soaked cloth to his chestplate was accompanied by a pulse of Prowl’s field, authority and confidence and reassurance all wound in a pattern familiar as the rhythms of his own spark.

“I had to use the dampener again.” he said, his voice coming out more ragged than he’d anticipated.

“You were right to.” Prowl said, as he always did, wiping down his decal. “What’s the first rule of Spec Ops missions?”

“Do whatever it takes to come home to you.” he recited, letting his optics unfocus as Prowl moved down his chestplate to scrub at the claw marks over his spark.

“Precisely.” Prowl pulsed approval at him, and Hot Rod relaxed a little more. “Come home to me, and I’ll set you back to rights.” he leaned over Hot Rod, their chestplates brushing as Prowl scrubbed gently over the dents in his shoulder. “Mirage is bringing his repair kit. Do you want these popped out before, or after?”

“Before.” he said immediately, then frowned. “Actually-”

“Stop.” Prowl said, the glyph layered with a familiar set of commanding subglyphs. Hot Rod purged his vocaliser queue, mouth snapping shut. “You don’t have to decide right this second. It can wait until we’ve retouched your chest.” Prowl’s fingers ghosted over the scratches Deadlock had left, and when Hot Rod shuddered Prowl bent to kiss the spot, same as he did crumpled audial flares and scoured plating. “Relax.” he ordered, the cleaning cloth resuming its steady motion as his other hand drifted down to Hot Rod’s hip, stroking gently over the exposed cables and biolights there. “I’ll set you an early appointment with Ratchet tomorrow, he’ll get whatever we don’t catch patched up proper.”

Hot Rod’s engine purred softly, slipping into idle as Prowl finished with his torso and moved on to his arm. “He overloaded in me.” he reported, engine turning over unevenly. Prowl’s flare of protective anger washed the disgust away before his tank could twist or clench, and Hot Rod let his optics flicker offline.

“We’ll fix that.” Prowl promised, clasping Hot Rod’s hand tight as he guided Hot Rod’s arm up to clean all sides of it. “You know who you belong to.” his field swept over Hot Rod, a blanket of _determination protection affection_ , and he shivered slightly as his plating began to relax. Prowl’s field wrapped around him, a near-physical weight, and Hot Rod opened his own field to it completely. Prowl’s steady confidence seeped in immediately, permeating Hot Rod’s field so thoroughly he couldn’t tell where his ended and Prowl’s began, or even if there was a distinction anymore.

“Bend your leg for me.” Prowl ordered, and Hot Rod let the hand on the back of his knee dictate how far. Damp cloth rubbed along the front of his thigh, and Prowl leaned over him again to cup his cheek. “Hey, stay with me, Hot Rod.” he ordered, and Hot Rod let out a low whine.

“I _am_.” he mumbled, optics flickering back on.

“Then you can tell me something else about your run-in with Deadlock.” Prowl said, and Hot Rod pouted as he searched for something else to say.

“I let him think I fragged my way into this position.” he offered, and Prowl chuckled.

“You almost did.” he pointed out, and Hot Rod’s lips curled in a lazy smile.

“Not how he thinks.”

“Oh, certainly not.” Prowl shook his helm, his amusement filtering through Hot Rod’s field. “I would never be so unprofessional as to recruit based on appearances.” he paused again in his scrubbing to caress Hot Rod’s hip, thumb stroking down and back up a strip of biolighting. “If I had though, you would’ve been one of the first. Right next to Mirage.”

Hot Rod chuckled at that, and as Prowl went back to working his leg clean of polish he thought over the encounter again. Looking back on it wasn’t quite so overwhelming as living it had been. Just another mission, another moment when his past came back to help instead of haunt him. Deadlock might think less of him, but the opinion of a Decepticon had less than no value. Prowl knew, the rest of the team knew, and none of them cared. So long as he came back to them in one piece, so long as his spark was still theirs...

“Hey, Prowl?” he mumbled, glossa heavy in his mouth like his frame laid heavy on the berth, weightless as if it barely belonged to him and equally impossible to move. Prowl shuffled around his pedes, scooting back up his other side with the bowl and a flicker of _curiosity encouragement calm_ in his field. Hot Rod smiled up at him, the thrum of his spark in his casing like a plucked string, resonating through his whole frame. “Yours.”

“Yes.” Prowl nodded, his fondness saturating Hot Rod’s field. “Now, another fact from your mission?”

Hot Rod hummed, his helm lolling to the side as Prowl set to work cleaning his arm. “Thought about you.”

“Oh?” Prowl glanced at him, and Hot Rod smiled again.

“To get revved up for Deadlock.” he clarified, engine purring as Prowl’s field flashed hot with arousal. He pushed some of his own state out into his field, a swirl of _relaxation contentment trust_ underlaid with the simmering heat of affection and arousal. Prowl’s fans kicked on, and Hot Rod huffed a soft laugh.

“Just for that, I’m going to scrub down your back and spoiler too before letting the others in.” Prowl fluttered his doorwings, optics fixed on Hot Rod’s arm. “And you can start telling me what you want done to you, once you’ve been touched up.”

Hot Rod hummed in agreement, and let his fans click on to their lowest setting as Prowl’s fingers laced with his own to lift his arm. “Whatever you say, Prowl.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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